I’ve always been a planner. Even as a child, I’d write brief lists of things I wanted to accomplish: read five books and save enough allowance for that special toy. There’s something comforting about a fresh sheet of paper and newly written intentions. And now, at the start of April, I find myself drawn to that same ritual–only now, my lists involve career aspirations rather than mastering cartwheels.
Q1 is now complete. Whether it was magnificent or messy—most likely a bit of both—there’s something magical about turning the calendar page: a fresh quarter for a fresh start.
I’ve been thinking about why April isrfffffffe the ideal time to hit the reset button. Though January grabs the headlines with its high-spirited resolutions, April quietly asserts its own unique strength. I’m no longer under pressure. The frenetic energy of New Year’s resolutions has subsided, enabling clearer reflection on genuine desires rather than perceived obligations.
After three months of experimenting, achieving, failing, and gaining knowledge, we now possess valuable data. From this experience, we’ve learned which goals motivate us and which feel like a chore. We now understand our areas of natural strength and weakness regarding energy.
Mary Oliver expressed a common worry about the garden and the rivers in her poetry. We often spend too much time worrying about setting goals, progress, and success or failure. However, this worry doesn’t change anything. In the process, we forget to live.
So, here’s what I’m doing differently this quarter. Maybe it will resonate with you, too.
Starting with reflection instead of reaction
Before making new plans, I’m reflecting on what worked and what didn’t in the first quarter. I’m curious about which activities energized me and when I felt most alive. I’m also considering what drained me and patterns in my productivity, sleep, and relationships.
I used to skip this step, rushing from one set of goals to the next without pausing. However, that approach often leads to repeating patterns that don’t benefit us. It’s like repainting a wall without checking if it needs to be patched first.
Reconnecting with my why
Goals without a clear purpose rarely last. As I plan for Q2, I make it a point to ask myself: Why is this important to me? Not for my boss, social media, or that inner voice that sounds like my most critical relative—but for ME.
When I feel connected to the deeper meaning behind a goal, it shifts from being an obligation to an invitation. It becomes less about checking boxes and more about creating a meaningful life.
I often find myself worrying about many things I cannot control, such as politics, the environment, and that strange pain in my shoulder—wondering whether it signifies something serious or if I simply slept in an awkward position. My worries feel like wild horses galloping in every direction. However, when I refocus on what I can influence—my actions, choices, and responses—it helps me manage that herd of worries.
Creating systems, not just goals
I’ve learned that sustainable progress comes more from daily habits than from grand declarations. Instead of setting a goal like “lose 50 pounds” (a target I’ve written down and abandoned approximately 47 times), I’m focusing on something more manageable: “prepare vegetable-forward meals on Sundays.” Similarly, instead of aiming to “finish five books in April,” I’m committing to “listening to an audiobook during my morning walk.”
The goal provides direction, but the system is what takes you there. Focusing on the process alleviates the pressure and makes the goal more attainable.
Making space for soft things
What I’m noticing more and more is how our culture celebrates hustle and overlooks the power of rest. We treat exhaustion like a badge of honor rather than a warning sign. We feel guilty for taking breaks, as if every moment must be productive.
So, my Q2 plan deliberately includes soft things: reading novels just because they bring me joy, going for aimless walks, calling a friend with no agenda beyond connection, watching the way sunlight filters through new spring leaves, baking bread, and doing nothing at all.
These aren’t indulgences or distractions from my “real” goals–they’re essential to everything else. They’re how I refill my well, so I have something to give. They’re how I remember what matters.
I can’t do anything about how others live their lives, but I have control over how I live mine. I want to be the kind of person I like to be around: someone who cares, is kind, and is supportive. Someone who finds humor in difficult situations and appreciates small kindnesses. I work on myself every day to become one of those people.
Taking My Creaky Body Outside For a Walk
This quarter, I’m taking a page from Mary Oliver’s book. Instead of worrying about whether I’m doing enough or being enough, I’m taking my “creaky body” out into the morning—and at least noticing. I’m noticing the birds returning, the first brave flowers, and how my neighbor always waves with his entire arm.
The best antidote to sitting in stunned paralysis, worries churning wildly through your panicked skull while your body is immobile, is to take action. It is not frantic action but intentional movement in a direction that matters to you.
I hope this finds you not too busy to read it. Or better yet, maybe it doesn’t find you at all because you’re out walking barefoot in the grass somewhere, your phone tucked away, completely present in this one wild and precious life of yours.
What are you making space for this quarter?
